I returned home today from the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference. Anybody who's been to a writers conference knows how overwhelming they can be. By the end of each day, your brain is at maximum capacity, unable to retain another crumb of information. Combine that with the emotional highs and lows of networking and fellowshipping with other writers, agents and editors, and by the time the conference is over, many of us are simply wiped out.
Functioning on three-and-a-half hours of sleep and a general numbness after four days of being overly-sensitized, my drive home was excruciating. But all that slipped away into nothingness when I pulled into my driveway. My four-year-old daughter and two-year-old son were playing in the front yard when I got home. I could read my daughter's lips as she said, "Mommy's home!" and then bounced up and down. She raced to the picket fence gate, her little brother close on her heels. I was barely out of the car when she threw her arms around my legs. "Mommy!" This time I got to hear her sweet voice. My son echoed her excitement. I grabbed them both and just held them tightly for a moment.